Hello fans. I'm now writing you from the other coast - the one I like better.
The last two months have been a whirlwind of shifting from east to west, from frenzied to calm, from nastiness to kindness. Learning how to believe in a humanity that is inherently good again. Remembering that I once trusted strangers on the street not to attack me, a projection of their misery onto something they sensed was good and pure so they could feel for one fleeting moment that their lonely human condition was less painful. Rediscovering that in this place I've returned to, it's safe to trust again.
"Let's blow this shit hole town," I said almost four years ago. My luggage was barely unpacked, a few unstylish outfits from REI unfolding themselves onto the floor of my still-empty apartment in New York City.
I had left San Francisco to see things, do things and find things, first in Kenyan villages, then in grad school. I had left San Francisco knowing I wanted to come back, but not anticipating how many terrible people would try to keep me away.
African vistas led me back to the US with a detour on the east coast. I had things to do in New York, a degree to finish, massive student loan debt to rack up. I cried for San Francisco more than once during that time. I wanted to go home in a way that I never knew before, a deep sadness and longing with a clear antidote. Getting back to San Francisco became an epic, elusive dream that I planted and watered in my soul, a tragedy of the present that I was determined to end happily ever after. I made a plan, and I kept it in Excel. It became an obsession. And a slightly sore point among my New York friends who wanted me to be happy but didn't want me to leave.
It's okay. They didn't know that San Francisco is still the greatest love affair of my life. And like all great love affairs, it will never end, no matter how far away I go or how long I'm gone. These years away haven't diminished the brightness in the universe that lights my soul from a place called home. I can always return and I'll be welcomed unconditionally, forgiven for taking home for granted. I live life with joy and gratitude and deep breaths.
Your love
Should never be offered to the mouth of a
Stranger,
Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.
- Hafiz of Shiraz
---
I've been away from the charcoal for awhile and I'm still looking for a new studio, so no new drawerings to report. Here's the last of the Brooklyn collection.
The last two months have been a whirlwind of shifting from east to west, from frenzied to calm, from nastiness to kindness. Learning how to believe in a humanity that is inherently good again. Remembering that I once trusted strangers on the street not to attack me, a projection of their misery onto something they sensed was good and pure so they could feel for one fleeting moment that their lonely human condition was less painful. Rediscovering that in this place I've returned to, it's safe to trust again.
"Let's blow this shit hole town," I said almost four years ago. My luggage was barely unpacked, a few unstylish outfits from REI unfolding themselves onto the floor of my still-empty apartment in New York City.
I had left San Francisco to see things, do things and find things, first in Kenyan villages, then in grad school. I had left San Francisco knowing I wanted to come back, but not anticipating how many terrible people would try to keep me away.
African vistas led me back to the US with a detour on the east coast. I had things to do in New York, a degree to finish, massive student loan debt to rack up. I cried for San Francisco more than once during that time. I wanted to go home in a way that I never knew before, a deep sadness and longing with a clear antidote. Getting back to San Francisco became an epic, elusive dream that I planted and watered in my soul, a tragedy of the present that I was determined to end happily ever after. I made a plan, and I kept it in Excel. It became an obsession. And a slightly sore point among my New York friends who wanted me to be happy but didn't want me to leave.
It's okay. They didn't know that San Francisco is still the greatest love affair of my life. And like all great love affairs, it will never end, no matter how far away I go or how long I'm gone. These years away haven't diminished the brightness in the universe that lights my soul from a place called home. I can always return and I'll be welcomed unconditionally, forgiven for taking home for granted. I live life with joy and gratitude and deep breaths.
Your love
Should never be offered to the mouth of a
Stranger,
Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.
- Hafiz of Shiraz
---
I've been away from the charcoal for awhile and I'm still looking for a new studio, so no new drawerings to report. Here's the last of the Brooklyn collection.
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| He had quite an impressive body of fur. |
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